


Against All Odds

by Loredib (Loredi)



Category: Glee
Genre: But not a soulmate!AU, Endgame Kurt Hummel/Sebastian Smythe, London, M/M, Minor Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel, Paris (City), Quinn is an angel, Sebastian Smythe Being a Jerk, Soulmates, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:35:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27481312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loredi/pseuds/Loredib
Summary: Sebastian never came back from France, so he never attended Dalton. Kurt convinced Blaine not to marry during Santana and Brittany’s wedding. Kurt’s about to marry Blaine, but then a name from his past comes up. This might be Kurt’s only chance to meet his soulmate. (But not a soulmate AU.)For the first day of the Kurtbastian week 2020. Different first meeting + fix it.
Relationships: Kurt Hummel/Sebastian Smythe, Quinn Fabray/Wes
Comments: 21
Kudos: 104
Collections: Kurtbastian Week 2020





	Against All Odds

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [You, Who Never Arrived](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26414536) by [abrighteryellow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/abrighteryellow/pseuds/abrighteryellow). 



> So, here's a funny story. I'm a slow writer and I just realized this Kurtbastian week was a thing like... a month ago. I decided to write some drabbles for it. Well, here's my 15k drabble. (And I tried to omit so many details...) I'm afraid I won't be able to write more. As I said, I'm a slow writer. Also, in my mind, the week started on Monday, so I'm already late. (And I shouldn't be here, I have to teach a class in 10 minutes.) In summary: I'm slow, and late, and I don't have a beta. But at least I tried? :D
> 
> (If you point at any mistake, I'll correct it ASAP.)
> 
> Anyway, this is based on the basic plot of the movie Only You, which I haven't seen in my life. But I read a fanfic with that plot and I fell in love with the premise. Though I changed... just about everything because there were some borderline!cheating parts that didn't work for Kurt Hummel, no sir. 
> 
> Thank you if you're still reading. Happy Kurtbastian week 2020!

Kurt was drowning in messages. He couldn’t wait for the wedding to be over, so he could get his mental peace back. He didn’t mind planning weddings—he’d actually _loved_ doing it back in the day—, but he did mind being stuck with the tedious tasks while Blaine ran around town with their wedding planner, sending him pictures of all the cute but random stuff he’d selected.

_star wars napkins how awesome is that!_

He sighed. Blaine had chosen the venue because his parents were paying for it, despite Burt’s complaints. He’d also chosen the color palette, although he _had_ asked for Kurt’s opinion (and then he’d ignored it). He’d chosen the flowers, cause his mother liked them. And he’d even tried to give his opinion about Kurt’s suit, but he had drawn the line there. Kurt was ready to compromise if it meant not having to fight with Blaine about the pettiest things, but his wedding outfit was sacred.

Anyway, Blaine was now off doing something related to the venue while Kurt was reviewing the RSPVs by himself. Apparently, Blaine _really_ needed their wedding planner by his side 24/7 and Kurt was a big boy and he could do everything by himself. His task was to check the planner’s spreadsheet and contrast it with the million messages he was receiving (via every possible social media platform and messaging app available) from people who were either RSVPing or changing their minds about coming. He sighed. It was one week before the wedding, and he really hoped these were the last days those messages kept coming. Moreover, who the hell were these people? Most of the names on the guest list of hell he didn’t even recognize.

_We have a lot of friends_ , was Blaine’s explanation. **_You_** _have a lot of friends_ , was Kurt’s conclusion.

He logged in to Facebook.

_Close your eyes_ , he told himself. _Breathe in. Breathe out._

When he opened his eyes to find 50+ new notifications, he felt like crying. Some of them could be his friends, sending memes or trying to gossip, but an overwhelming amount were no doubt wedding related. He had to remind himself that he wanted this. He did. Blaine had proposed to him very romantically. And then he had suggested the equivalent of a gunshot wedding (by hijacking Santana and Brittany’s ceremony, of all things). Fortunately, Kurt had talked him into postponing their wedding and having a ceremony just for them. He wanted something special, something both their families could attend, he wanted to plan every little detail like he’d dreamed about, he….

He wanted a little time to think about it, too.

Blaine had accepted, and Kurt had had time to think. Something had been on his mind ever since that day. But when he’d tried to talk to his dad or his friends about it, they all dismissed his worries. “You’re getting cold feet,” said Burt. “It’s absolutely normal. But if you really think about it, you’ll be sure you want to marry Blaine.”

So that’s what Kurt had done. He’d really thought about it. And thought, and thought, and the name kept coming to him even in his dreams.

That name.

That name.

* * * * *

It happened during the early days of New Directions. He’d just come out to Mercedes and she was looking at him from the corner of her eye, as if trying to decipher who he really was and what other things he was hiding from her. They were on their way to being best friends, but they weren’t quite there yet. They had taken to visit the Lima Bean, as it was a neutral place that allowed them to get to know each other now that everything important (sexuality, crushes) was out there.

They were sitting in their own corner when they saw a weird woman come in. She seemed to be dressed like Professor Trelawney, from Harry Potter. Everyone turned their heads.

“You know you can’t be here, Em,” yelled the man behind the counter.

She looked around, as if looking for help. Then her eyes fixed on a booth by the other corner. Kurt turned his head to see Santana and Brittany sitting there, but he didn’t get to see what happened until the woman left the booth and walked toward the other tables. No one paid her any attention, except for the barista, who seemed on the verge of throwing her out. Kurt felt kind of bad for her. When she reached their table, Kurt offered her a cookie.

“Thanks sweetie,” she said, accepting it. “I can read your palms for cheap,” she whispered.

Kurt was not a big believer on the supernatural, but Mercedes seemed excited.

The woman ended up reading both their palms.

Mercedes went first. She got what seemed common predictions for a high school girl—handsome men on her way, success, a satisfying singing career.

“Oh… you’ll date a Rockstar!”

“A Rockstar!” Mercedes laughed, disbelieving.

Her self-esteem was usually good, but the issue with Kurt had damaged it a little.

“A Rockstar,” confirmed the woman, nodding.

Kurt was next. He expected the typical stuff for a man—that he’d meet a wonderful girl, marry her, and have 2.5 children and a corporate job. He was prepared to confirm that this woman was a fake. But what she said instead left him speechless.

“I see a man in your future. Tall, dark, handsome, the works.”

OK, that was unexpected, but he _was_ wearing a sweater from the women’s department, after all. Anyway, the woman might have guessed that he was gay, but her prediction was still a cliché.

“Sure,” he said, rolling her eyes.

“And I see a name.”

His heart, the traitor, sped up.

“A name!?” Kurt shrieked.

Could it be Finn’s? He was the definition of tall, dark, and handsome, after all.

“Yes… It’s… James. James David.”

Kurt blinked.

“But is David a middle name or a last name, or—?” started Mercedes.

“He’s your soulmate,” interrupted the woman, looking straight into Kurt’s eyes. “That’s all your palm’s telling me.”

They gave her some dollars and another cookie and she went on her way, never to be seen around the Lima Bean again. For some time after that, Kurt lurked around the lists displayed in the corridors of McKinley High, scanning them surreptitiously for a name. It never came up, so Kurt shrugged it off.

He had forgotten all about that ridiculous woman and that ludicrous prophecy, until Mercedes told them about her Rockstar boyfriend at Santana and Brittany’s wedding.

“I know!” she said, when she saw Kurt’s face. “I remembered Trelawney too! But James Dylan never did turn up, did he?”

“James David,” he corrected.

He wanted to forget the stupid name, but he still remembered. (Stupid spark of hope.)

“Well, you got Blaine instead,” said Mercedes, with a grin.

“Yeah. I got Blaine instead.”

He wouldn’t admit he’d go on to spend an insane amount of time going through NYADA’s alumni lists looking for a James David, without luck.

* * * * *

All of which led to this day. Kurt was here, planning his own wedding to Not James David while Mercedes was out there with a Rockstar basically made to her heart’s desires. And Kurt couldn’t help but wonder… what if he was making a mistake? What if he was supposed to wait for James David. What if Fate was calling him…

His phone _was_ actually calling him. He thought he was done with the messages, but a new one came through the event on Facebook. From someone apparently named JD Willnotsay.

_Hey, Blaine, mate, I know I RSVPed back in March, and I really wanted to meet your guy, but turns out I can’t make it. Sorry, I’m needed in Paris. I’m at the airport in Columbus just now. Sorry again!_

Kurt blinked, tiredly.

“Well at least someone gets to go to Paris,” he mumbled.

He wanted to have a Paris honeymoon. But Blaine’s parents had paid for a trip to Hawaii. Who was he to resent them for it? Only someone whose skin sunburned in five point two seconds, and who hated parading among crowds in swimwear, but whatever, Blaine loved the beach, and he was over the moon.

“Thank you for letting us know,” he replied to the message. “But can you tell me your complete name so I can update the guest list?”

_Sorry, forgot to say! This is James David, no plus one._

Kurt didn’t realize he’d dropped his phone until much later, when his brain restarted.

Or perhaps it didn’t _completely_ restart. What with Kurt rushing out of the house.

* * * * *

The reasoning behind Kurt’s Lyft trip to the airport was this—if this was Fate, he was going to meet his soulmate there. If it wasn’t meant to be, all he was wasting was a bunch of money on a Lyft trip.

He realized how stupid his plan was when got to the airport, looked at the screens, and realized the one flight to Paris with a layover in New York scheduled at that time was leaving right at that second. He left the airport with a tug in his belly. He rationally knew he was being stupid. But something in his heart couldn’t let it go.

He had all the time in the world on his way home, so he did the only thing that could give him peace. He stalked this man. He tried snooping on his Facebook profile, but it was private. He couldn’t even check to see if he was friends with Blaine, which he supposed he was. His profile picture was a sunset. (Romantic? But nondescriptive.) He didn’t list any other information. (Way too private for the digital era.) Kurt tried the wedding planner’s spreadsheet, but again, there was nothing about contact information beyond Facebook.

He decided to google him (as he’d admittedly already done some years before) and found nothing much. There were a hundred thousand people named either James or David or James David Something or David James Something. It lead nowhere. He stalked Blaine’s Instagram contacts and found a D.J. who seemed to be the one. His profile was public, but he didn’t upload anything but random artsy pictures. He didn’t even upload stories, for god’s sake.

His last picture showed the sky, so Kurt opened it and read the caption.

_Paris fashion week, huh._

His heart stopped.

“What do you mean Paris Fashion Week!?” he shouted at his phone.

The driver glanced at him from the rear-view mirror.

“Are you OK, man?”

Kurt shook his head.

“No! I’m not OK!”

When he got home, there was no one to stop him. So he made the most reckless decision he’d made in his life. He packed a suitcase while googling cheap flights to Paris.

* * * * *

Kurt sent Blaine a vague message telling him he was going to be busy with friends for a couple of days. Up to that moment, Blaine had not replied, so Kurt had taken it as a sign to go on with this crazy scheme. Just in case, he sent a message to Mercedes asking her to cover for him if necessary, and he received a petition to give her as many details as possible. Kurt wanted to tell her, he did, but he was afraid someone would tell Blaine about this and he’d try to stop him. (Or worse, that he wouldn’t try to stop him at all.)

He didn’t want someone to stop him, not really, but he wished he had someone to talk to.

Fate was listening to him, apparently. As he was leaving the taxi at the airport bay, Quinn Fabray herself stood right in front of him.

He froze. She froze.

“Kurt?”

“Quinn? What are you doing here?” he asked, a little breathless.

“I’m… actually back from New Haven for your wedding,” she said, perplexed. “Are… are you going to be there?”

Kurt realized this looked bad. Here he was, merely days from his wedding date, and he was entering the airport with sunglasses, a suitcase, a handbag, and a plane ticket in his hand.

“I—Yes! Yes. I’m just… I have some unfinished business I need to—so—”

“So… you’re not a runaway groom?”

Kurt was sure his face was completely red.

“I—No, I swear I can explain. It’s a really long but quite interesting story.”

Quinn looked at him head to toe, then she reached out, took his hand, and held it to take a look at his ticket.

“You’re early for your flight. We can get you to check-in and then we can have a coffee. It’d be nice to catch up before you go to… tend to your business.”

He wanted to say no, he wanted to hide, and he wanted to lie his way out of this. But he hadn’t really told anyone about this madness, and perhaps he needed to confide in someone who knew his story, but not so well. Someone who was so objective that she might even discourage him and push some sense into him.

He was still debating internally about the details he should tell Quinn when they got to a Starbucks. After some awkward moments, Quinn was the first to talk, with her sweet smile in place. 

“So, what’s going on with you these days? Personally, I dated one of my professors for a while, I had sex with Santana, I hooked up and broke up with Puck for the tenth time, I met a guy, he proposed, then he decided he regretted it and ran away with his high school sweetheart, and I’ve been single for a while after that,” she made a pause to breathe. “Wow, it feels good to get all of that off my chest.”

Kurt blinked. Well, compared with Quinn’s love life, his was pretty tame. He sighed and decided he needed to be as honest as possible if he wanted an honest opinion too. He knew Quinn could be brutally honest.

“I’m going to Paris to try to locate James David, a man who a fortune teller told me, years ago, would be the love of my life, but about whom I’d never even heard until yesterday.”

Quinn lost her smile and her jaw went down.

“You what.”

* * * * *

He ended up telling her everything, from his obscure memories of the fortune teller to the feeling he couldn’t shake that there was a chance Blaine might not, after all, be _the one_ for him.

“I don’t want to feel like I should’ve done something, you know? Because… what are the odds a guy with _just the name_ appears days before my wedding to another man. I know it’s crazy, but I feel like… If I meet this guy and it turns out he’s exactly what I dreamed of when I was a kid, I’ll come back and break up with Blaine. But if I see him and nothing happens, at least I’ll know I tried. I won’t ever think of it again.”

Quinn nodded.

“And you’ll be back and marry Blaine.”

He gulped.

“And then I’ll come back and marry Blaine,” he mumbled.

There was some silence. Kurt looked at Quinn from behind his shades, waiting for her verdict.

“Well, to be honest, that’s one of the dumbest plans I’ve heard since I last saw Puck,” said Quinn.

He winced.

“It is.” he admitted. “I know it’s reckless, but this might be the last time I get to do something like this.”

If he didn’t do this now, there was no way he was doing it after marrying Blaine. It was a “now or never situation.” It was kind of a life or death situation. Or so he was telling himself.

Quinn seemed deep in thought for some seconds. Her eyes were beyond their table, and she bit her lip.

“You know what?” she said. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right. We’re not going to be young forever, are we?”

She stood up. He looked up in awe and expectation. He could feel her determination coming off in waves. But what did it mean?

“Hey, Kurt, now that we’re talking about fate… What if we go to the airline counter and we check whether there are any tickets left for your flight and, on the off chance there are, would you like some company for your little adventure?”

Kurt had never pictured Quinn as the person who he’d pick to take on a reckless trip to Europe. But then again, he’d never imagined this reckless trip to Europe.

“Let’s leave it up to fate then, shall we?” he said, standing up and extending his arm for her to take.

* * * * *

It turned out there were a lot of seats left to choose. Quinn’s ticket was way more expensive than Kurt’s, still she didn’t even flinch when she used her dad’s credit card. There was a deeper story there, but he didn’t want to pry.

Next thing he knew, they were in New York waiting for their connecting flight while calling every hotel in Paris whose number they could find online. Quinn had come up with the idea, after Kurt had told her that his plan was to get to Paris and see what fate had in store.

“But you have to help in some way, dummy,” she said.

So they called every hotel and asked to leave a message for James David, their colleague who was not answering his phone. Kurt reckoned no one called hotels these days and they actually believed it was an emergency. He felt a bit guilty every time he had to lie to a poor hotel employee, but he was getting desperate. Around twenty hotels promptly told them they had no guests by that name, until suddenly one did.

“Sure! I can give Mr. David your message when he gets back.”

Kurt ended the call right then, almost breathless.

“I got him,” he shrieked.

Quinn jumped from her seat and hugged him, excited. The rest of the people waiting at the gate gave them funny looks. It didn’t even matter. Kurt felt weightless. He was going to Paris. During Fashion Week. And he was going to meet James David.

* * * * *

It was a dream come true. The first time he got a glance at the Eiffel Tower he basically screamed. He did scream the first time he saw the signage about a Fashion Week event. He even hugged Quinn in his happiness.

Quinn, for all her sophistication, was just a small town girl. She jumped with him, and cried out with him. He knew she was perfect for the role of companion when she lead them to a hostel. She’d googled it and helped him to make reservations with a coupon she’d found.

“We need to change into something appropriate,” she instructed, once they’d checked in.

Kurt put his hand on his heart.

“You’re amazing,” he declared.

She smiled with all her perfect teeth in display.

“I know. Thank you.”

He checked his phone as soon as they got the Wi-Fi password.

Burt was worried about him. (Kurt had been honest with him, just before takeoff.) Kurt decided to take a selfie with Quinn and send it to him. He hoped his father would feel better knowing someone familiar was by his side.

He ignored some other messages about the wedding. But he did look for any messages from Blaine. There was nothing but silence. He didn’t know how to describe what he felt. Like his stomach was empty?

He made himself shake the feeling off.

* * * * *

A couple of hours later, he found himself at the hotel. The hotel. Just steps away from the front desk. And he was panicking. This was it. He was in Paris. He was going to do it. Hell, he was actually going to ask them to call Mr. David’s room and tell him someone at the lobby wanted to see him. And then he was going to explain he wasn’t usually a crazy stalker, he just needed _to know._ But James might even call him a psycho and… he’d cross that bridge when he got to it.

“Deep breaths,” said Quinn. “You can do this. Remember what you said? You just need to meet him, you just need to know.”

He breathed in deeply, then exhaled and trembled.

“OK. Yes, I can do this.”

He marched to the front desk and gave his little speech in careful French, as calmly as possible, as if he had any right to be there asking them to get Mr. David for him.

“ _Bien sûr_!” said the woman.

“Thanks,” said Kurt, accidentally reverting to English in his relief.

“Oh,” said the woman after a while. “Mr. David is not our guest at the moment.”

He felt like the walls were collapsing around him.

“What. But. I mean, but—he was here yesterday.”

The woman raised an eyebrow and glanced at the screen.

“Yes, that’s true, but he’s checked out.”

“Please tell me you know where he is,” he begged.

“We can’t give you any information, sir. Is there anything else I can do for you?” she asked, dismissively.

Quinn was waiting for him, regally sat on an armchair. She stood up as soon as she saw him coming back toward her. Her long skirt was a perfect shape. Kurt wanted to cry.

“And…?” she asked, eagerly.

“We’ve missed him. He must have been here for one night only, he’s checked out.”

“Oh, no!” she said, empathetically. “What can we do now?”

He looked around, helplessly. It was past noon. Everything was bright and shiny in this perfect city, except for his heart.

“I guess this must be a sign,” he said. “If I’ve come all the way here and I missed him…”

He felt miserable. He let himself fall on the chair Quinn had vacated.

She took out her phone.

“I mean, really, what are the odds I can find him in a big city bustling with Fashion Week. Where would I even—”

“Well, if we’re to trust Google Maps, he’s like half an hour away from here. I’ve always wanted to take the _métro_ ,” she said.

“What?”

She took him by the arm and made him stand up again. He almost dropped his handbag in shock. And it was a big one.

“Thank God you’re with me. You need a friend who stays calm in a crisis.”

“What?” he repeated.

It seemed like James had, after all, uploaded a story without any information except for a location tag. The poor guy surely didn’t expect one of his fifty American followers to stalk him around Paris. And honestly, Kurt felt even more like a creep doing this, but it was his last chance. If he didn’t find him now, he’d lose him in Paris forever.

So they took the _métro_. And they found themselves really close to the tower, in front of one of those historical buildings that could be a palace if it were in Ohio, but not in Paris.

A lot of people were entering and leaving, all dressed impeccably, some carrying huge bags with them. Kurt carried his huge Gucci handbag where he kept every little thing he might need. He had been judged before because of it, but you never knew when you were a foreigner in an European city. And look at him now, fitting right in. His chin went up.

A couple of people passed him by, not even questioning his presence.

(Quinn’s model-like face surely didn’t hurt either.)

Anyway, the building was secured and there was no chance in hell they were going to sneak in.

“It’s a press event,” he said, pointing at the name badges.

“We can say we’re here to bring him some things he forgot,” said Quinn, pointing at Kurt’s handbag.

“Like his camera?”

“Just say things, we don’t know whether he’s a journalist, a photographer, an up-and-coming designer, or Alexander McQueen using an alias. Just be vague.”

“How do you come up with all these lies?” he asked, truly amazed at the way the lies just kept coming out of her mouth.

“Need I remind you I was a pregnant teen with extremely religious parents. And a cheerio,” she said with a dangerous smile that didn’t left any room for further questions.

Kurt needed that reminder, to be honest. Sometimes it was easy to forget what she’d been through.

They walked up the steps and calmly approached the entrance.

When they finally got there, the person checking IDs at the door was alone, and the security guards were nowhere to be seen. It was now or never. But Kurt hesitated. Quinn grabbed his arm and stepped up with confidence.

“Excuse me,” she said in her sweetest voice. “We’re looking for our colleague, James David. He sent us a message that he’d forgotten this bag at the hotel. Can you point us in his direction?”

The guy finally raised his head. Kurt looked down at the same time, not sure he could keep up with the ruse if he saw him in the eye.

“Oh. Hey, Kurt!” said the guy in a familiar voice.

Kurt’s head snapped up and he froze in his place.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” he said. “And I’m sure I’ve seen you before…” he said, now looking at Quinn.

“Quinn Fabray,” she said, shaking his hand. “How are you?”

Then she looked at Kurt from the corner of her eye, expecting him to give her a clue.

“W-Wes,” he stammered. “Wes Warbler, how are you!? What are the odds?! What are you doing here?”

And precisely, what were the odds that the only Warbler no one was able to contact about the wedding was standing right in front of him in frikin’ Paris.

Wes was openly smiling.

“It’s part of my MBA internship,” he explained, excited. “I applied for a scholarship after… oh, crap. But I’m holding you back. You’re looking for this James David guy to give him his stuff. Oh, no. We can catch up later. Wait a second…”

Kurt bit his lip first, then he opened his mouth, about to confess and apologize, but Quinn elbowed him gently. He stayed quiet but mortified the whole time Wes looked through the names on his tablet.

“Oh, darn, guys, I guess you’re pretty late. The press conference he attended finished a minute ago. He must be leaving right now…” he explained.

Kurt realized a lot of people were leaving the building as they stood there. Doing nothing. _No. Not again, no, no_ , he thought.

“Isn’t that him? He looks like his ID picture,” said Wes, pointing at a guy at the bottom of the stairs who was about to get lost among the people in the street. “But I might be wrong, I mean these cameras are—”

Kurt bolted without waiting for him to finish.

“Kurt!” yelled Quinn, but he didn’t stop.

He ran down the stairs and found himself in the middle of a crowd, looking for a face he couldn’t even picture. He started spinning around, looking for a sign, any sign. _Please, please…_ It was then that the shoulder strap of his beautiful handbag ripped and the whole thing fell to the ground.

And wasn’t that just the perfect moment to be mugged.

He bent over to try to catch the bag, but there was someone else already there, holding it. Kurt pulled the bag toward him, bringing the stranger almost on top of him. They both fell to the ground, handbag an all.

“ _Laissez-moi, connard_ _!_ ” cried Kurt, while he kept pulling.

“ _J’ai seulement essayé de vous aider, tête de noed_ _!_ ” replied an indignant male voice.

“ _Je ne veux pas ton_ fucking help,” he shouted, in anger and despair.

“Oh, you’re American,” said the man, suddenly letting go of the bag.

It was only then that Kurt had time to really see the person he was fighting. He looked tall, slim, slightly tanned. And he had really amazing eyes, sharp cheekbones, and perfect hair. But he was also trying to rob him. It was just his luck. The only attractive men who approached him were criminals!

“Give me,” he said, finally getting his bag back from the harpy’s clutches.

“As if I’d try to steal a knock-off handbag from two seasons ago!”

Kurt’s throat released an indignant cry without his consent.

“Who are you to insult me calling my things passé knock-offs after shoving me to the ground, you asshole.”

“Honey, I’d know a Gucci knock-off with my eyes closed,” he spat right back.

“What are you, the fashion police?”

“I happen to work for Gucci, so just stop embarrassing yourself.”

Kurt shut his mouth up, suddenly mortified. 

“And I didn’t shove you,” added the stranger, “you pulled me, you utter prick.”

And… Kurt was done with this man.

“ _Utter prick_! Who even says that, Sherlock Holmes?! What a _pretentious_ … ”

“Kurt?” intervened a soft voice, out of nowhere.

Quinn was there, helping him and the man stand up. Kurt was still furious and embarrassed, but it was hard to focus when he found himself in front of a really hot guy in a really fitting suit he could admire now they were on their feet. The man seemed calmer, too.

“I’m sorry. I tried to help, OK? I saw you spinning around like a madman and I thought you were having a panic attack or something. I was making sure you didn’t lose the bag when you dropped it. I should have realized you were just, what, dancing?” he rolled his eyes.

Kurt had an eye for expensive things, and most of what the man was wearing looked quite expensive. That made him feel ashamed of accusing him of stealing his, admittedly, knock-off handbag from two seasons ago. He let his shoulders fall. Every part of his plan was failing, and now a handsome stranger was ridiculing him.

“I’m sorry,” he said to the man. Then he turned to Quinn, dejected. “I lost him.”

Quinn opened her mouth to reply, but the handsome stranger intervened once again. One would have thought he’d run away from Kurt after their little scene, but…

“Who did you lose?”

Kurt shook his head, but Quinn didn’t get his hint to let it go.

“His soulmate,” she revealed, as if it was a good topic for chit-chat. Kurt glared, but she didn’t seem to get his daggers.

“His… soulmate,” the man repeated, apparently trying to hold back the biggest smirk ever known to man and failing. “And what does this soulmate look like? If he came out of that building at the same time as I did, I might’ve seen him…” he added.

Kurt avoided his eyes.

“We don’t really know, you see…” offered Quinn.

She was having way too much fun for Kurt’s liking.

“You don’t know,” the man repeated, in his awful, awful judgmental voice.

“Yeah, a fortune teller told Kurt he was going to meet his soulmate and gave him a name, and now we’re looking for him all over the world—”

The stranger was clearly about to burst out laughing. Kurt couldn’t deal with this.

“Now if you’ll excuse us!” he interrupted, taking Quinn’s arm with one hand as he carried his useless bag with the other.

“What’s his name, then?” the man said, walking behind them, now suddenly serious and helpful. “This was a relatively small event, I might even know him…”

He seemed sincere, but then again he’d called Kurt a _tête de noed_. Kurt wanted to go, but he didn’t pull Quinn hard enough before she said it.

“James David.”

“Oh,” said the stranger, going very still.

Kurt finally turned his head to look at him. He saw the man staring at him fixedly before laughing nervously and looking downward.

“What?” said Kurt, curtly.

If the man mocked him about this, he was going to lose it. But he didn’t mock him. He did something worse.

“I’m James David,” he said.

Kurt felt as if the ground had disappeared below his feet. He slowly went back to the ground, assisted by Quinn’s steady arms.

* * * * *

They sat on the steps of the now empty building. Quinn was nearby, apparently “catching up” with Wes, as if they were old friends. Kurt himself had never been a friend of Wes, but who was he to judge how they decided to pass the time while he sat there, awkwardly trying to change the first impression he’d made on his soulmate.

“I—I’m not sure what to tell you,” he explained. “I guess deep inside I was sure I wasn’t ever going to find you.”

“You can start by telling me your name, _soulmate,_ ” said the stranger, not without a little bite.

“Kurt Hummel,” he sighed. “Pleasure?”

He extended his hand and the stranger—James—shook it firmly.

“Pleasure,” he said back.

He didn’t flinch. He didn’t say anything like “oh, you’re Blaine’s fiancé!” He probably hadn’t even paid attention to his name next to Blaine’s. That was a relief.

“Now tell me, what did that fortune teller tell you? It must have been big, if you’re stalking me around the world, as your friend says.”

Kurt gulped. This was his chance to explain. Either he’d convince James that he had valid reasons to seek him or he’d send James running to the hills.

“She just said your name,” he explained. “But she said you were my soulmate and she… said a couple of other things that turned out to be true. I just… I wanted to meet you and… check? Just in case.”

James was looking at him, quietly. He didn’t seem like he was going to run away. If anything, he looked like he was going to laugh at him.

“SorryIfollowedyoufromOhio,” mumbled Kurt in a breath.

James froze.

“What did you say?”

“I—I—There’s nothing I can say that makes this less creepy, so. I kind of stalked you on insta and followed you here from Ohio?”

He decided not to say _After you sent that message about being at the airport and not coming to my wedding,_ hoping to postpone that conversation.

There was a long silence.

“That is quite creepy,” said the man in the end. “Are you from Ohio?”

Kurt nodded.

“From Lima.”

James laughed.

“No bloody way. I’m from Westerville.”

“Oh,” said Kurt, with big eyes glancing at Wes for a second. “Of course. Were you a Warbler?”

The man’s jaw went down, as if in shock, but he shook his head. “I—no. I was going to be one, though. I love singing. For a while there my parents thought of sending me to Dalton and I read about the Warblers. They seemed cool. But I stayed here and now I just visit Ohio sometimes. I’m—I—Wow. I can’t believe I’m meeting someone from Ohio right now.”

Kurt bit his lip but shrugged. What could he say? That it was fate? It really wasn’t. Or maybe it was, a little fate with a lot of Kurt’s doing and Quinn’s help.

They were back to awkward silence. Kurt tried to break it. After all, this might be his only chance to speak with James and know for sure whether they were _meant to be_.

“So… you work for Gucci.”

“I do,” he said. “Nothing fancy, before you get your pants in a twist. I’m just an intern in HR, I do some communication stuff.”

“But,” said Kurt. “You knew about the bag.”

“Honestly, I’m not even into fashion. But I do know some things about the brand,” he said with a cursory glance to the object.

“I knew it was a knock-off, but people usually can’t tell,” confessed Kurt.

“People don’t usually work for Gucci during Fashion Week, pal,” said James with a shrug.

Kurt cleared his throat, his mind going a mile a minute trying to find a way to fix the first impression he’d made.

“You do that a lot,” he said in the end. “You use these brit terms, _pants, utter prick, pal,_ but you say you’re American.”

This brought a smile to the man’s face.

“I _am_ half-American,” he said. “But I’ve lived here since I was a teen. It’s easier to go to London for the weekend than to Nowhere Ohio, you know? I even had a British boyfriend for a while… I suppose I learned some words from him.”

A British boyfriend, then. So. His soulmate was gay, too. That was like… the first nice thing in all this mess.

“Is that all you learned from him?” he asked without thinking.

Then James snorted. And Kurt’s eyes widened in horror as he _heard_ himself.

“Oh my God,” he cried, mortified. He wasn’t ever going to fix this, was he. “I just meant other words! You learned words!”

James was covering his mouth with a hand. His chest was actually spasming, he was laughing so hard.

“I didn’t mean it that way!” cried Kurt.

Apparently his slip had two effects—one, James was way more relaxed around him. And two, James was way more relaxed around him, and that meant a lot of crude double entendres Kurt _was not_ expecting from his soulmate. He was sure he was permanently beet red.

“So, _soulmate,_ ” he said as they kept talking, this time with less mockery in his tone. “Are you into fashion? Cause you’re wearing a nice top, but I like your bottom better,” he said, pointing at Kurt’s outfit.

“Oh, God,” he replied, avoiding his eyes. “Stop it!”

“But I mean it,” James said with a smile. “I can sense you know a lot more about fashion than I do just by your outfit and your knock-off confession.”

Kurt smiled a little.

“I can’t believe that. You work for Gucci. You’re wearing a perfect suit,” said Kurt.

“My mother picked it and sent it to her tailor. And I might have implied I’ve worked for Gucci for years, but I actually haven’t,” said the man, with a carefree smile.

So, Mr. Soulmate was admitting to having weaknesses. Kurt saw it as an olive branch.

“Fashion _is_ one of my passions,” he admitted.

“I love passion,” James whispered, mock flirty. “Tell me more about it.”

“You’ll get bored,” Kurt said with a snort.

“I might,” said he. “But I’ll also be less ignorant about my own line of work and I’ll be looking at _you_ all the time. It’s a win/win situation.”

Kurt smiled shyly, in spite of himself.

They talked for a while more. Quinn and Wes were now sitting on the steps too, clearly tired of standing away from them. Suddenly, it was dusk and Kurt didn’t know what to do. James helped him decide.

“It’s getting late. We should take this elsewhere… What do you say, my room or your room?” he asked suggestively. “I can show you some things I learned from my ex…”

“Oh my god,” said Kurt, covering his face.

“I mean making tea, get your head out of the gutter.”

“You’re awful, awful.”

“Thanks. I try.”

* * * * *

As he and Quinn were staying in a hostel, he made the executive decision of tying a messy knot—cringing inside—to mend his bag for the time being. Then he followed James to his apartment. He made sure to send Quinn the address and he sent messages every couple of minutes, not entirely convinced he was not being abducted.

“Have you ever been to Paris before?” asked James.

“Not really,” said Kurt, a bit embarrassed.

“Then we’ll take the long way there.”

They walked. James pointed at things, explaining the history behind apparently innocuous buildings. Poking Kurt every time they could see the tower in the shadows. Kurt felt like such a tourist, but at least he had an amazing guide.

“I’m kind of a history nerd,” said James. “And I love this city.”

Kurt wanted to speak of more personal topics, to get to know James, but at the same time he couldn’t complain. He walked through beautiful streets and he got an amazing man sharing his love for Paris with him.

He didn’t see it coming when the flash came.

“What’s that?”

James had a professional camera with him.

“They lent me this for today’s event, and I’m taking advantage of having a professional camera.”

“What for?” groaned Kurt, trying to cover his face.

He was sure he was sweaty and he needed to fix his hair, he was not ready for this…

James took another picture.

“I have a beautiful city, a gorgeous man, and a professional camera. What did you expect?”

“James—”

“You can finish that sentence or you can see it this way—you’ll have professional pictures from your trip to Paris! Who gives you that for free?”

“Are you a professional photographer?”

“I have a professional camera with automatic settings,” he said, with a smirk. “But I can tell you to _smize,_ if it helps,” he added.

Kurt honest-to-god giggled. Then he tried to fix his hair discreetly. But he didn’t stop James.

* * * * *

Kurt’s jaw went down the moment he entered James’ apartment.

Why had he even stayed at a hotel if he had this place?

“This is huge!” he said.

“I get that a lot,” he replied, raising his eyebrows.

“James!” cried Kurt, covering his face in embarrassment once again.

James just laughed again.

It _was_ a huge apartment in the skirts of Paris. The building was old, but well-preserved. All the furniture screamed _interior design magazine._ His soulmate was clearly rich, richer than any of the rich Warblers he’d met in his time in Dalton, and Kurt wasn’t sure what to do with this information. He felt awkward and out of place.

There was a guitar on the sofa. That perked him up.

“Do you play?”

James smiled.

“I’m still learning, but yeah, sort of. I’m better at piano, but my old piano stayed in my grandparents’ house when I moved.”

“You play the piano,” repeated Kurt, in astonishment.

He felt like he was one of those cartoon characters with hearts for eyes every time this man revealed something about himself, but he couldn’t help it.

“Yeah. Do you play anything?”

“Piano, too. Though I taught myself, so I’m sure I’m not as good as you. You must have had tutors since you were in the womb.”

The man laughed.

“Are you kidding? Yeah, I had tutors, but you taught yourself to play the piano. That’s amazing, Kurt.”

His chest felt tight. He kind of felt proud about it too, but he didn’t usually mention it. His peers at NYADA were pretty judgmental.

“Did you do that with other things too, taught yourself?”

“I mean… French, a little. I had some teachers, but they were awful, so I researched by myself. And maybe… Sai swords? It looked like fun, so I dabbled into that.”

James just stared at him blankly. “Sai swords?”

“Yeah, like…”

He could have shown James pictures or a YouTube video, but he had recorded a video of one of the performances where he’d used Sai swords at NYADA. He showed it to James on his phone.

His mouth was open by the end of it.

“Wow. I wish I could say more, but I’m sort of speechless. That was really—hot.”

Kurt smiled unevenly, unable to get used to James’ compliments.

“Where did you do this? Is it like a talent show of some sort?”

“It’s from one of my shows at NYADA.”

This drew another blank, so Kurt explained.

“You graduated from _the_ Interpretative Arts Academy in the States? Kurt, that’s incredible!”

“It’ll be more incredible when I can get a job performing. I was going to start auditioning but I had to plan the… I mean, I had to do some things before that.”

“Like stalking me,” he said, with a little smirk.

Kurt stammered.

“I—I mean… Believe it or not, that was not planned.”

“That’s perfect. Then we can plan your future stalking together. I’m free on Thursdays.”

Kurt laughed, but he felt awful trying to hide the fact he was going to marry. He felt a lump in his throat.

“Anyway, what did you study?” asked Kurt, trying to change the topic.

“Well, I got a bachelor’s from the Sorbonne…”

“ _The_ Sorbonne?!” asked Kurt, awestruck.

“ _The_ Sorbonne,” confirmed James.

“And you pretended to be impressed with NYADA? That’s _The_ Sorbonne!”

James shrugged.

“The way I see it, it’s just a bachelor’s. You, on the other hand, have a lot more talents. Honestly, I hope I can _learn_ some things from you,” said James, playfully.

Kurt swore this would be the last time he blushed.

* * * * *

At one point, James leaned toward Kurt on the sofa, but Kurt moved away.

“I don’t kiss on the first date,” he said, trying to sound flirty and not mortified.

“You don’t… _kiss,_ ” James repeated, cocking an eyebrow.

Kurt bit his lip.

“I have strong principles about sex stuff, OK? Is that a problem with you?”

He felt fierce about this. He realized he wasn’t lying, he did have strong principles and lines he didn’t feel comfortable crossing. He was ready to bolt out of the door if James didn’t respect them. Fortunately, the man looked deeply into his eyes and shook his head, serious for once.

“Not a problem. I _definitely_ kiss on the first date, but I can respect your boundaries.”

“Good,” said Kurt, which led to comfortable silence.

They laughed and snarked and battered. They discussed education, fashion, pop music, old movies, and even sports (like the time Kurt was an “American football” player and the time James tried to start a Lacrosse league with his friends). It was past midnight when Kurt couldn't hide he was famished. Sebastian apologized for not having thought of offering something to eat beyond "biscuits." He stood up and cooked some pasta, rushing around the kitchen while Kurt sat there, basically allowing his heart to beat his ribcage to death. 

The sun came up and they were still talking. They were sleepy, but caffeinated. They’d had so much tea during the night and so much coffee with the first rays of the sun that Kurt felt floaty and shaky. But when the morning light settled, he realized his time was running out. His wedding was just some days away. He gulped.

James offered to take him for breakfast and then back to his hostel. Kurt accepted and this led to a new scenic-route _promenade_. This time, James helped carry Kurt’s bag while he showed him Paris in the morning, pointing at details that had been lost the night before. Taking new pictures with his camera.

James took him to a _Crêperie_ , so he would get the whole touristy experience. He also paid for both of them, even if Kurt protested.

“So… do you kiss on the second date?”

Kurt was smiling and eating it up, but his conscience was eating _him_ up.

He couldn’t keep doing this, not to this perfect man. And he couldn’t kiss him either.

“I have something to tell you,” he said, once they got to the hostel.

“I have something to tell you too,” said James.

“I think mine is kind of more important.”

James frowned.

“No, I think mine is kind of _a lot_ more important.”

And that’s when everything came crashing down.

* * * * *

“You’re getting married,” repeated the man.

Kurt didn’t know what to read in his face—anger, sadness, heartbreak, disappointment, probably. Or perhaps that was just what Kurt was feeling.

“What do you mean your name’s not James David?!” he cried out.

They were on the street, in front of the hostel. Apparently that’s where Fate wanted his heart to splash open on the ground.

“What is it to you if you’re getting married? You are never going to call off the wedding, are you?”

“I might have!” he yelled, his voice breaking a little. “I might have if I’d found the _real_ James David.”

“What does it even matter?” asked the man, fuming. “You don’t really believe in this soulmate bullshit, do you? We make our destiny, we choose our life partners.”

Kurt also believed that (mostly), yes, but he was also extremely pissed off, so he wasn’t going to agree with him.

“Who even are you?! Why were you lying all the time?! Why did you do this to me?!”

The man breathed in deeply before answering.

“My name’s Sebastian Smythe. And I didn’t lie all the time.”

Kurt scoffed.

“Yeah, sure. You even have a villain name, Mr. Smythe.”

“I don’t—Look, I didn’t lie,” he repeated, his hands in fists. “Everything I said is true. I’m an intern for Gucci, I’m half-American, my family is from Ohio, I’ve lived here since I was a teen, I play the piano, I love singing and dancing, and I do really think you’re amazing, except for the fact you’re about to get married.”

Kurt crossed his arms.

“Why. Did. You. Do. This? You owe me an answer at least.”

Sebastian frowned.

“Fine,” he spat. “At first it was a joke. I wanted to get back at you for the scene you caused when I was just trying to be nice. But then… Then you talked about Ohio, Dalton, the Warblers… Don’t you see it?!”

Kurt just shrugged with one shoulder.

“See what?”

“If Fate was a thing, wouldn’t this be it?”

Kurt shook his head. He wanted to go home and cry.

Sebastian pushed his hair back, nervously. Then he tried to make his point.

“What are the odds that I’d find someone from fucking Ohio here? What are the odds this person knows about Dalton, the school I was going to attend as a teen? What are the odds I can talk with this person about every topic on earth for hours on end and have so much fun?”

Kurt just sighed, defeated. He wasn’t as angry as before. Now he was just… done. They _had_ spent an amazing night, but was it even real?

“You wanted to make fun of me,” he said. “How do I know you were being honest at any time? You were cruel, playing your game for so long.”

He tried to leave, but Sebastian reached for his arm.

“I haven’t finished, please hear me out.”

He pulled his hand away but complied.

“What are the odds, Kurt, that I was sent to that press event yesterday? I wasn’t lying, I’m an intern for Gucci, but I even getting that job was an accident. The company was undisclosed, I thought I was interviewing for something in marketing. And I wasn’t lying, I only do some copywriting stuff for them. My boss should’ve attended that press event, but he got food poisoning the night before and he sent me a message two hours before it started. I wasn’t supposed to be there at all, Kurt. And still, we met. And you were holding, of all things, a knock-off Gucci handbag that teared the second I was behind you.”

Kurt bit his lip, but still didn’t budge.

“You lied,” he whispered.

“And you’re engaged,” said Sebastian. “I can forgive yours if you forgive mine,” he offered, eyes begging.

Kurt closed his eyes, trying to find an answer. He took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry. But I don’t want to see you anymore.”

He felt like being dramatic, with his bruised heart and all, so he left Sebastian standing there and pushed the hostel door open, carrying his ruined bag and fantasies inside. He was received by Quinn, who has standing just steps away from the door.

“I saw you with him and came here to wait. Are you OK?”

Kurt leaned in to rest his head on her shoulder. He wanted to cry, sob, kick something, erase the previous night. He didn’t know what he wanted anymore.

“Kurt?”

He shook his head, his nose hidden in her jacket.

“Let’s just enjoy one more day in Paris before we go back.”

Quinn’s face was neutral when he finally faced her, but her eyes were sad.

“What happened?”

“He wasn’t James David,” was all he said.

“Oh, Kurt,” she said, patting his arm.

* * * * *

It turned out that Quinn had had better luck the night before. Wes had taken her out for dinner at a charming little restaurant and they had hit it off so well that her eyes had that shine in them when she told Kurt about it. That shine.

Wes sent her a message, inviting her and Kurt for lunch. She looked at him in all seriousness.

“If you don’t want to go, I can tell him no. We can even go back to Ohio right now if you want to.”

Kurt shrugged.

“I really don’t want to,” he said. “I’d rather go out and have some fun. When will I ever be back?”

“Whenever you want to,” replied Quinn, straightforward.

It sounded good, but the question was, _when was Kurt going to be brave enough again?_

It didn’t help that Blaine hadn’t sent a single message acknowledging his disappearance. It was days before his wedding and Blaine hadn’t reached out to know what was wrong.

It was disheartening. It was a relief. It was a mess. 

He took a nap.

* * * * *

As they were having lunch with an enthusiastic and clearly enamored Wes, Kurt got to thinking about fate once again. What were the odds that they would find Wes, of all people, here?

“Kurt, I’m so glad you got over your crush with Blaine. I hate to tell you this, but that boy was stringing you along. It hurt to see it.”

Kurt’s smile froze.

“Yeah. I’m glad too.”

Quinn drank from her cup, probably biting her tongue.

What were the odds? Wes was the only Warbler who had not been invited to the wedding, as they couldn’t find a way to contact him. He’d changed his number, his family had moved out of the state, and his Facebook profile was abandoned the moment it was created. He wasn’t in touch with other Warblers, past or present, either. Now Kurt knew it was because of the demands academic life was putting on him, and because he had moved to Europe for his MBA.

“Seriously, I hope Blaine is growing up these days. He needs more maturity. And you always seemed so mature. You deserve a nice guy.”

“Thanks,” said Kurt, trying to pinch Quinn’s arm to make her shut up.

She was covering her mouth with her hand, hiding her giggles.

“Anyway, do you ever miss Ohio, Wes?” he asked.

Wes shrugged, timidly.

“I honestly don’t,” he replied. “I think my world back in Ohio was so small—Dalton, the Warblers, and schoolwork. The world is bigger than that. Once I saw it, I couldn’t go back. Perhaps I’m an asshole for not keeping in touch, but I didn’t want to be involved in any more Warbler drama after I left.”

“I understand that,” said Quinn. “Sometimes I feel like disappearing and never looking back. Is it the coward way? I don’t know. I just imagine it’d give me some mental peace.”

“It probably would,” said Wes. “At least that’s the way it worked out for me.”

Quinn nodded, her eyes lost in front of her, unfocused but determined.

It got awkwardly quiet.

Kurt cleared his throat.

“And Wes, tell me, how did you get into the fashion industry? I never thought of you as fashion-inclined.”

Wes shrugged.

“You never saw me out of my Dalton Uniform, I believe,” he said. “It’s not so much fashion as business and management in general. Fashion is one of the most important world-wide industries nowadays. The numbers are simply…”

Kurt kind of spaced out after that.

He relied on Quinn, who kept paying attention and replying. 

He liked Wes, but his mind was a mess he needed to deal with ASAP.

* * * * *

When they came back to the hostel, there was a surprise waiting for them. Kurt just about turned away, trying to leave, but Sebastian caught up with him.

“Please just hear me out, please, please. I’m just here to try to make it up to you.”

Kurt stopped and crossed his arms dramatically. Then he looked at Sebastian from behind his sunglasses, rising an eyebrow. He was not going to say a word if he could help it.

“I think I found him. James David.”

Kurt frowned and opened his mouth. What?

“What?” asked Quinn, in his stead.

“Uhm,” intervened Wes, pointing at Sebastian. “Isn’t this the guy who tried to con you?”

“I didn’t try to con him!” said Sebastian, indignantly. “I deceived him, which at the moment I thought was justified, but I’m trying to make amends here. Kurt?”

Kurt sighed and waved a hand, inviting him to go on.

“I think I found him. I asked around, found other people in that conference room, and finally found him. I know where he is. He’s in London.”

Kurt’s arms went down in defeat.

“In London. I can’t go to London.”

“I can take you there,” continued Sebastian. “I promise—”

“I’m not going to London, I’m getting married in three days, there’s no time.”

He heard gasps. From the corner of his eye he could see Wes having a coughing attack. Quinn was patting his back, trying to hold back her laugher. Sebastian, meanwhile, looked as if he’d been punched in the face. Contrary to common sense, the man rolled with the punch.

“I can work with that. London is only a couple of hours if we take the train,” he explained. “I’ll pay for your ticket. I know how important this is for you. I just want to make it better. Honestly.”

Kurt removed his sunglasses and tried to glare. But he found himself directly facing a pair of eyes that could haunt his dreams.

“Why should I trust you, you deceitful weasel?” he asked, mock disdainful.

To his surprise, Sebastian laughed.

“Why should you do half of the crazy stuff you’re doing, Kurt? There’s no reason! But you’ve got nothing to lose except some hours of your precious time.”

Quinn touched his shoulder then, and showed him her phone. It was another photo uploaded to James David’s Instagram. It showed a crooked view of the Big Ben.

_I always wanted to come!,_ read the caption.

So Sebastian wasn’t lying.

He admitted defeat.

“You’ll really pay for my ticket,” he said, turning to Sebastian, half-closing his eyes in suspicion.

“I will,” said the guy.

“And my friends’ tickets.”

“Which friends?!” Wes coughing fit got back.

Sebastian turned toward Quinn and Wes, as if assessing their value.

“I mean… if that’s what it takes to make you forgive me…”

Kurt snorted.

“That’s not even half what it’d take. You can’t buy forgiveness, Sebastian Smythe.”

The man just showed him his perfect teeth.

“But it’s a start?”

* * * * *

So they went to London.

They packed their suitcases and brought them along. If this didn’t work out, Kurt was going back to Ohio as soon as possible. His time was running out. He also took his wrecked handbag with him, even if it was a hassle. He’d need to replace it, once he was back home.

They boarded the train. Was it too late to go back to Paris, and Fashion Week, and the amazing brands he could peruse in search of a new bag? Yeah, it probably was.

Kurt’s plan was to sit with Quinn, but it was a matter of looking at her longing gaze toward Wes, and his longing gaze in return. He couldn’t just put himself in the middle of that. He grumpily sat next to a cheerful Sebastian.

“So what are you going to say when you meet him?”

“Probably a better version of what I said to you,” said Kurt with a shrug, trying to fake disinterest.

“ _Tu vas l’appeler un con_?” asked Sebastian, with a smirk.

(Are you going to call him an asshole?)

Kurt flushed and glared at him.

“ _T’inquiète pas. Tu es le seul connard dans ma vie_.”

(Don’t worry, you’re the only asshole in my life.)

Sebastian laughed out loud and made himself comfortable in his seat. 

It was hard to stay mad at him, when Sebastian was so charming. They kept the small talk going. Then they talked about their families back in Ohio (except for Kurt’s fiancé), and then they discussed their stance on fate and free will. Both of them were strong free-will believers, but they also confessed there were a lot of unexplainable "coincidences" in life. None of them dared to speak again of the coincidences leading to their encounter. Instead, Sebastian’s banter turned into seriousness.

“Kurt, I’m really sorry about lying to you.”

Kurt’s mouth twisted.

“I can’t forgive you yet, but I might get there. I’m sorry about lying to you too.”

Sebastian’s eyes turned a bit sad.

“That hurt, to be honest. But hey, at least we got to know each other at our most rude, wicked, and deceiving. There’s only good stuff from here!”

Kurt shook his head.

“You’re awful.”

“I am, sometimes, to be honest” said Sebastian. “It’s a relief that you know that upfront.”

Kurt looked at him in silence. He didn’t know what to say. Sebastian spoke as if he was sure they were going to keep seeing each other for a while. As if they were going to see more of themselves at their best and at their worst. He ended up saying something, although he wasn’t sure what he meant by it.

“Likewise.”

* * * * *

They talked the rest of the way, until some minutes before they were supposed to get to St Pancras. Then Sebastian’s phone chimed with a notification and he glanced at his phone. Whatever he read on the screen made him flinch.

“Everything alright?” asked Kurt.

Sebastian looked up. He seemed caught.

“I—I’m… I’ll be right back. It’s nothing, really.”

Kurt saw him go toward the dining car. He was gone for some minutes. Kurt got antsy. Was he deserting them? He turned his head and saw Quinn and Wes, deep in conversation. Well, at least someone was having a good time.

Sebastian did return, but he wasn’t as cheerful as before.

“What’s going on?”

“I’m just really unhappy you’re meeting your soulmate,” he said. “What will I do if you leave me forever?”

Kurt rolled his eyes.

“Who says there was a chance I’d stay with you?”

Sebastian’s smiled faltered, but he replied.

“Who says there wasn’t.”

Kurt didn’t know what to answer.

* * * * *

They left their baggage at the station, including Kurt’s stupid bag. He felt even more nervous, now that he only had his pockets to cover for his basic needs.

“How did you get the address?” Quinn asked Sebastian, an expressive eyebrow up.

“I’m really persuasive,” he said. “Now, Kurt, H-James is supposed to be having tea at this small restaurant. You can’t miss him. He’s a bit shorter than me, dirty blond hair, expensive-looking cat on his lap—”

Kurt stopped on his tracks.

“A what on his lap?”

“A cat.”

“What type of cat?” asked Wes.

“The furry kind?” said Sebastian. “I’m not a cat expert, but how many guys can be holding cats while having tea at this café?”

The answer was just the one.

Kurt stood across from the café, looking at the man. He was nicely dressed and sitting with a calf on top of the other. His hair was perfectly coiffed, he had bushy eyebrows, a strong jaw, and perfect lips with a beauty mark next to them. If this was Kurt’s soulmate, well, Fate was being kind to him. 

He stood there for so long that Quinn had to push him.

He walked a couple of steps. Then he turned back to look at his mismatched entourage. Quinn was smiling, encouraging. Wes was just looking around, probably uninterested. Sebastian was looking at him with a frown and sad eyes. He avoided them.

“OK. I’ll just… go say hi.”

“You do that,” said Quinn.

“I’ll… ask him out,” he decided. “Otherwise, how will I know, right?”

She nodded.

Sebastian crossed his arms and turned his head to look away.

Wes gave him what he supposed was an encouraging smile.

* * * * *

He walked straight to the man. He was sitting at a small table with two seats, but the one opposite James was occupied by a cat. (It wasn’t, after all, on his lap.)

He ignored the cat thing.

“Hello,” he said instead, breathlessly.

The man’s head went up, but he didn’t speak.

“Hello,” he said again, a little less brave. “I’m Kurt. And you’re James, right?”

The man cocked an eyebrow, but again didn’t reply. The sun was going down and it shone on his face. He took a pair of sunglasses out of his pocket and put them on his face.

Well, that was encouraging.

“OK. Yeah. I was just wondering if you wanted to go out with me a bit later tonight? Have dinner, perhaps? Or something?”

The man smirked at him and he finally spoke.

“Sure, why not.”

It was not an overwhelmingly positive answer, but it was something.

They made arrangements. James gave him a time and a place and told him to be there “sharp.” It felt anticlimactic. He had a date with his theoretical soulmate after everything he’d done to find him; however, they had not exchanged more than a couple of phrases. He decided not to let himself feel discouraged. He was going to give this a chance. Precisely because of all the effort he’d put into this, he wasn’t just going to give up at the first signs of trouble. And everything must have an explanation. Perhaps James was shy. Perhaps he was going to open up at dinner and they’d really hit it off just like Mercedes and her Rockstar or Quinn and Wes.

They barely had time to go back to get their bags and check in at a Airbnb Sebastian got for them.

“It was a last-minute reservation,” he explained. “Sorry if it’s not what you expected.”

Kurt looked around.

“Sebastian, this is a four-bedroom house with every possible amenity in a very nice part of London, what are you talking about?”

Sebastian looked down, seemingly guilty. Kurt didn’t get why he should feel guilty about this situation, so he shrugged and rushed to the bathroom to get a quick shower.

He was already planning his outfit. It needed to be perfect. This was his first date in forever. Or perhaps he shouldn’t think of it as a date. Because he was not planning on being… date-y with James or anything. He was still engaged, after all. He’d think about this as a get-to-know-your-soulmate dinner. Yeah, that was better.

He cringed inside.

He never thought of himself as the cheating kind, so he was not going to do anything he’d regret later. His silent phone wasn’t helping this situation, though.

He dressed up in his room, twirling in front of the mirror to check that his form-fitting sweater was spotless and clinging to the right places. He looked fine. He checked his pockets, dejected. He didn’t have his trusty bag with him, so his phone and wallet were going to make his ass look fat and disproportionate, but there was nothing to be done.

He sighed. His hands were trembling a little. He _was_ nervous.

There was a knock at his door.

“Come in!” he said, thinking it was Quinn.

It was Sebastian. He showed his face from behind the door.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” answered Kurt. “I thought it was Quinn. Never mind, you’ll do. How do I look?”

He twirled again. Sebastian’s eyes shone and he grinned.

“You look amazing.”

“Right?” said Kurt, a little more confident in spite of his ruined figure.

He was glancing at his ass when Sebastian fully entered the room. He had a box with him. Kurt looked at the box, trying to find an explanation for it. Then he looked at Sebastian questioningly.

“I just wanted to give you something. I’ve been meaning to give it to you since we were back in Paris, but I couldn’t find a good moment.”

“You don’t need to give me anything—” he started.

“It’s a present. And you can’t give it back. It’s all part of my buying-your-forgiveness plan.”

Kurt snorted, but he had to admit that he felt curious, so he accepted the box and took it to the bed. He sat down and opened it to find a Gucci handbag. Original. From this season.

“Holly f—Sebastian, I can’t accept this. This is too expensive.”

Sebastian’s hands went up.

“I told you, you can’t give it back. And it wasn’t really expensive. I called a couple of favors. It was nothing, really.”

“You _are actually_ trying to buy my forgiveness, aren’t you?”

Sebastian smirked.

“Maybe. But also, I feel a little responsible for maiming your other bag when I was trying to help. I wanted to make it up to you.”

“You keep saying that.”

He sighed and touched every little detail on the bag. The materials were perfect. Every stitch was perfect.

“You’re right. It’s physically impossible for me to give this back.”

Sebastian smiled and leaned in a little bit.

“I hoped you’d fall in love with it and never let it go.”

He said it so meaningfully that Kurt felt something fluttering in his stomach.

“Thank you, Sebastian. I must admit you’re not so bad.”

Sebastian’s reaction was unexpected. His smile disappeared and he avoided his eyes.

“I try,” he said. “I hope one day you can forgive me. Meanwhile, enjoy the bag.”

“Thank you,” said Kurt again.

When Sebastian left, Kurt was a little less nervous about his date, and he’d made up his mind about something—he was going to keep in touch with Sebastian, after all this madness passed.

* * * * *

The date… didn’t quite go the way he expected.

Quinn and Wes decided to go out on their own date—which surprised exactly no one. That left Sebastian to awkwardly walk with Kurt to the place James had named. That’s where everything started to go downhill.

“This is not a restaurant,” was the first thing to come out of his mouth.

“It isn’t,” said Sebastian. “Sorry, were you expecting one?”

He was kind of hungry and he despised night clubs, so yeah, he was expecting a restaurant.

“It’s just that—” he tried to put into words the cringe he was feeling. “It’s just that I don’t like places like this.”

Sebastian frowned.

“Why not?” he didn’t sound judgmental, thank God, otherwise Kurt might have vomited right there.

“It’s just… I’m not a fan of drinking. Drunk people can be really annoying. And I don’t like dancing. I mean, I love dancing, but I don’t care for drunk dancing. It can get embarrassing, and then you have to carry them home and hide from them in the bathroom because you don’t want to—you don’t want to. See them.”

Sebastian’s face turned worried.

“You seem to be talking about a particular person.”

Kurt’s face fell.

“Yeah.”

He looked down, trying to shake off the memories.

“Kurt, I’m no one to give an opinion about your relationships and your life. I know I barely know you and I’ve let you down a lot. So I’ll just say this—if this man says or does something that makes you even remotely uncomfortable, you call me. I’ll be right here and I’ll go in and get you out of there even if I have to call the police. Does that make you feel safer?”

Weirdly—seeing as Sebastian was a virtual stranger—it did. Kurt hugged him instinctively, breathed in deeply, and let him go before he walked to the door. James was at a table and he was already drinking.

_If I walk out now_ , he thought, _I’ll never have the guts again_.

So he walked to James and sat by his side and tried to make small talk while the drinks kept coming and he kept refusing to drink. He tried to talk, he did, but the man just nodded, or hummed, or looked around uninterested. Kurt’s heart and self-esteem were on the floor as he tried to find common ground with him.

_Please_ , he thought, _please be better than Blaine._

“You didn’t seem surprised when I asked you out,” he said, desperately trying to get a reaction. “Had you heard about me or something?”

_Perhaps from your wedding invitation_ , he added in his head.

“No,” he replied.

“So you were surprised?”

“Not really,” he said. “It happens all the time.”

Ouch. That really hurt. So he was just one among a number of people asking James for a date.

“Oh,” was all he said. Then he kept quiet.

James tried to probe him so he could order a drink he really liked, but Kurt didn’t feel like drinking after having his heart stomped on once again.

After a while, James shrugged and went to the dance floor. In his defense, he’d asked Kurt to go, but Kurt had refused to drunkenly dance on top of everything tonight.

It was then that Kurt realized this wasn’t really a gay club. There were gay couples around, but there were a lot more heterosexual couples and single women. Single women flying around James. And he was smirking at them invitingly.

That was when Kurt gave up. He made up his mind. He was going back home.

But he needed a drink first. Preferably not alone, like a loser.

_Can you come inside for a bit?_

He sent Sebastian the message, hoping he was outside, living up to his word. To his surprise, not a minute later, the man was by his side.

“Did he do something to you?”

Kurt shook his head.

“No,” he said. “He’s just…”

He pointed with his hand to the man, who was happily dancing with one of the multiple interested girls. Sebastian balled his hands into fists.

“That fucking prick,” he said.

James seemed to react to Sebastian’s almost-shout. He returned to the table.

“What were you doing, you fucking prick” yelled Sebastian. “There was no need to act like an utter arsehole!”

“I thought that’s what—”

“It’s alright,” said Kurt. “He’s not interested, I get it—”

“—you wanted.”

“Just stop it, Hunter,” Sebastian screamed. “I didn’t ask you to say yes to the date!”

“Well no, I did that to piss you off, wanker.”

Kurt was speechless.

“You’re not James David.”

The man, Hunter?, shrugged.

“And this was your doing,” he realized, turning to Sebastian.

The man seemed to become smaller.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I swear this has a good explanation…”

“There isn’t an explanation on the face of earth that could make me hate you less,” Kurt yelled.

He rose and left quicky, stomping to the door, tears about to drop.

* * * * *

He didn’t know how to get to their Airbnb, but he was going to try to walk. He wanted to check google maps, but he'd have to stop in order to do that. If only Sebastian stopped following him along the street.

“I swear to God, Kurt. There’s an explanation for this.”

“Save it, I don’t want to hear your voice ever again.”

He’d just said that when he heard a honk, a scream, and a crash, all almost at the same time.

By the time he turned around, Sebastian was on the floor and a girl was on top of him. A bike lay some feet away.

“Oh my god,” the girl was saying. “I’m so sorry, I couldn’t stop, you came out of nowhere…”

Sebastian just lay there, his eyes big and unfocused.

“Are you OK?” cried Kurt, running toward them.

“I’m alright, just a scratch,” said the girl. “He got the worst of it, though. Oh god, I’m sorry!”

The girl stood up and Kurt kneeled next to Sebastian. He was now blinking fast.

“Are you OK?!” he repeated, desperately trying to get a reaction.

Kurt took him by the shoulders, considering the dangers of trying to shake him or help him up. He didn't need to do it. Sebastian's eyes finally focused on him.

“To be completely honest,” he said. “I think I might throw up.”

“That’s not good.”

“Oh god,” said the girl. “I’m going to call an ambulance.”

* * * * *

Nothing like being ran over to get Kurt to stay, he supposed. Sebastian was checked by the paramedics. He didn’t actually have any signs of a concussion, but his left leg and arm were more than scratched. He was pretty roughed up, and he’d need strong pain killers. He winced all the way home on the cab. Kurt felt bad for him, so he gave him a chance.

“OK, we’re trapped in a moving vehicle and you owe me an explanation.”

Sebastian winced even more.

“Thanks, I guess. If I knew this was all it’d take—”

“Don’t even say it,” he reprimanded.

Sebastian tried to turn toward him, a bit robotically.

“You probably won’t believe this, but I did ask about James. And they did tell me he was in London. As I told you, I have some friends around here—”

“Exes,” clarified Kurt.

“That too,” he admitted, shrugging and regretting it immediately, judging by his face. “I asked a friend to locate James at the hotel where they said he’d be. And… he wasn’t there. I’d lost him. I didn’t know what to do or what to tell you. We were already halfway here.”

“And instead of telling the truth, you decided to what, hire an actor? Ask your ex to meet me?!”

“No. No, no, no! Hunter is just a friend, not my ex, I would never… Kurt, I’d never…”

“OK,” he said. “Say I believe you, that’s only one of the one hundred shitty things you did today. You lied again, you made me go out with this guy. It was humiliating.”

Sebastian looked at the floor of the car, chastised.

“I know. I know. I just—panicked. I thought you’d never believe I’d lost him. I’d already lied to you. And I’d made you take a train all the way here. I thought—I thought I could fix it?” he laughed, without humor. “And I also thought, maybe, if you met this ‘James’ and you didn’t like him, you might even give me a chance. He wasn’t supposed to go on a date with you, he was just supposed to meet you.”

Kurt was fuming. He didn’t punch Sebastian only because karma had been faster than him.

“You’re a manipulative asshole. I can see it clearly—you’re so used to getting things your way that you don’t even think of other people’s feelings. I’ve known you for a whole two days and you’ve hurt me more than the average person in my life. I’m not going to stand here and get metaphorically punched while I wait for you to change. I’m simply not. I’m not going to settle for less than I deserve.”

Sebastian’s hole body lost its strength and he leaned on the window.

“I know. I know,” he repeated, dejected. “I’m sorry.”

Kurt turned his head away. He thought Sebastian might be crying, but he wasn’t sure. He didn’t want to turn back, because if he did he’d probably hug the hell out of him. Not because he’d forgiven him, but because half his speech wasn’t even targeted at him at all. Half that speech had been about someone else. And it hurt to admit it.

* * * * *

When they got to the Airbnb, Quinn and Wes were already sitting outside, apparently waiting for them while they star gazed. Their spell was broken when they saw Sebastian stumbling out of the cab.

“Oh my god, what happened?”

Kurt stayed in the cab to pay. When he got out, Wes was already helping Sebastian into the house. Quinn was anxiously waiting for him.

“Are _you_ OK?!”

Kurt shrugged. The taxi took off and it was just the two of them in the silence of the night in a whole other continent, far away from home.

“My heart is bleeding more than usual, but otherwise I’m better off than him,” he said. “He was literally ran over.”

“He was what?!”

* * * * *

Kurt and Quinn put on pajamas and sat next to each other on Kurt’s bed. It was just like the times they'd stayed at hotels when they traveled with New Directions. Kurt hugged Quinn by the shoulders and Quinn leaned on him. Kurt told her everything, whispering and holding back his tears.

“And that’s what you missed,” he said.

“Oh, Kurt,” she said.

It was nice. She just heard him. Thankfully, she didn’t give her opinion, she didn’t judge him or any of the life decisions that had led him to this moment. She was just a friendly presence by his side.

When it was his turn to hear her out, he smiled. Her story was much nicer. She had clicked with Wes in a way that intrigued her. She had spent hours talking to him. They had kissed. A lot. She had decided she was staying in Paris for some days to see where things went. She’d never been in a long-distance relationship, but there was something there to explore, apparently. And Wes was planning on going back to the States when he graduated.

“I hope you don’t mind if I end up not coming to your wedding,” she said.

Kurt sighed.

“Don’t you worry your perfectly-proportioned head,” he whispered. “There won’t be a wedding.”

She tensed.

“Shit, Kurt. It’s final, then?”

The swearing seemed appropriate. In fact, it was on repeat in his head. _Shit, shit, shit, shit, this is happening, shit, shit, shit, shit._

“It was bound to happen,” he said, trying to sound confident. “It’s obvious what happened here. I was looking for an excuse to run away, any excuse. And I wanted this James thing to work so badly. Only because I didn’t want to go back.”

Quinn hugged him.

“In the end, I was hoping against hope that I’d find something better than Blaine. And I know why I did that. It’s because I think I deserve something better than Blaine at his worst. And he didn’t…”

He couldn’t help it. These days had proven too much for his poor heart. He started sobbing. 

“He didn’t even notice I wasn’t there,” he said. “What happened to us? When did I become the guy who forgives everything because he’s too afraid of letting go? When did I become the guy who was so close to cheating?”

He kept crying and mumbling for some minutes. Quinn dealt with him, as she kept the tissues coming. After a while, he sighed and stopped.

“Look at me! I’m still focused on myself. All these things were happening with you while I was too busy with my own angst. I made you come all the way here and I didn’t even pay attention… I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

Quinn grinned.

“You might be thinking of me as a secondary character who got a secondary plot, but I’m not. I had my own plot, my own adventure, and my own growing up during this trip.”

Kurt took her hand.

“I’m happy for you.”

“I’m happy for you too,” said Quinn.

* * * * *

_Blackbird singing in the dead of night_

_Take these broken wings and learn to fly_

_All your life_

_You were only waiting for this moment to arise_

_Blackbird singing in the dead of night_

_Take these sunken eyes and learn to see_

_All your life_

_You were only waiting for this moment to be free_

It was nice. Quinn let Kurt brush her hair while she played some music and tried to contact someone from Lima. Santana replied. Quinn facetimed her.

“What up?” asked the girl.

“Hey,” said Quinn. “Can you do me a favor?”

“I’m a happily married woman now, but sure if Brit’s open to it.”

Quinn rolled her eyes.

“Not that kind of favor. I wanted to check if you could pick up someone from the airport. He’s going to need a friend.”

Kurt hid behind her hair. It might be true, he might need a friend so he didn’t break down as soon as he was back home. But that didn’t mean he liked it. He had to admit Santana was a good option, though. She was cold and calm. And Kurt had gotten used to her ways while they lived in New York together.

“Who’s the friend and why should I bother?”

Kurt tried to stop Quinn, but she told the story again. By the time she'd finished, Santana was in tears and she couldn’t stop laughing.

“Oh my god, this is gold!”

Kurt kept hiding behind Quinn. He felt embarrassed, but relieved that the whole story was out there. He didn’t want to have to tell it when he stood face to face with Santana. Still, he was going to avoid her until it was necessary.

“What an idiot!” she kept laughing. “Why would he even believe something like that?”

“Well, that fortune teller told him. And she was right about Mercedes—” explained Quinn.

Santana kept laughing, until suddenly she stopped.

“Wait. Wait. Wait a second. What fortune teller?”

Quinn told her.

“No fucking way,” said Santana.

“What?”

Kurt peered from behind Quinn. Santana was drying her tears with a smirk.

“Oh, god, I’d forgotten about that.”

“About what?”

“That was a joke, dumbass.”

“What do you mean a joke?” Kurt asked, finally coming from behind Quinn.

“Brit and I paid that fake-ass gipsy to mess with Aretha and you,” she explained. “We forgot about it later. I can’t believe it finally paid off!”

“What?!” cried Kurt. “Who the fuck is James David then?!”

Santana shrugged. “Some guy Brit dated. Probably from Dalton, now that I think about it…”

Kurt felt as if the bed below him had disappeared. Santana was laughing again. Quinn was looking at him, mouth agape. Kurt took the phone.

“Santana, I hope you can pick me up at the airport, because I’M GOING TO KILL YOU RIGHT THERE.”

* * * * *

He hugged Quinn and Wes goodbye. Both of them wished him luck. At the last possible minute, he knocked on Sebastian’s door to say goodbye too, but the man was too drowsy from the painkillers.

“I’m going back to Ohio,” he explained.

Sebastian looked at him as if he was seeing two of him.

“Why? Don’t do that,” he ordered, with a pout.

Kurt hold back a smile.

“I have to do it. There are many problems I have to solve.”

“But… forgive me?” he asked, with pleading eyes.

Kurt wanted to become insensitive to those eyes, but he was too tired to do that at the moment.

“I want to keep being mad at you, but I can’t when you’re like that. Anyway, I’m going away and I probably won’t ever see you again. So, yes, I forgive you.”

“Thanks,” he replied, with a dopey smile. “Can we talk again?”

Kurt snorted.

“Sure, we can talk. Although I don’t see you calling me when I’m back in Ohio.”

Sebastian frowned.

“Why not?”

Kurt shrugged.

“Why would you be in touch with someone in Nowhere Ohio when you have your whole life here? You work for Gucci Paris, you have British boyfriends and London weekends. It was never meant to be.”

Sebastian’s frown got deeper.

“You’re too hot. It’s distracting.”

Kurt ended up smiling at him and waving goodbye.

“Get better soon, Sebastian.”

“Love you,” said the man, snuggling his sheets.

* * * * *

Santana laughed at him the whole way from the airport. It was a good distraction from what was waiting for him at home.

He called Blaine to ask him to come. Surprisingly, he accepted his call and said he’d be there.

They sat in front of each other.

“I guess you might be wondering where I was these past days,” Kurt started.

Blaine looked guilty and ashamed. It didn’t bode well. But still, it hurt a lot when it happened.

“How did you know about Gale?”

Kurt tensed.

“Who’s Gale?”

Blaine blinked.

“Our wedding planner.”

_Well, shit._

“I swear I didn’t mean to! You checked out of our relationship a while ago, and I—”

Kurt stopped him with a hand gesture.

“Blaine, we have one day to call everyone and tell them the wedding is off. We don’t have time for this.”

Blaine looked like he had punched him.

“The wedding’s off?”

Kurt took his hand, one last time.

“Isn't it the best thing to do? For both of us?”

Blaine looked down and, after a while, he nodded.

What followed were some of the roughest days of Kurt’s life. He dealt with his broken future, Blaine’s guilt, Burt’s anger, and a hundred gobsmacked guests. But he survived, and he came out stronger.

* * * * *

Perhaps the biggest surprise was Sebastian’s message, some days later.

_Uhm… hi. It’s me. Sebastian._ _Sooo… are you married?_

Kurt hesitated for a couple of hours. Did he want to reply? Did he want to keep in touch with Sebastian? Hadn’t he had enough of the boy’s lies and secret plots? In the end, Kurt replied. He had forgiven Sebastian back in London, after all, and they were so far away that it didn’t mean anything at all.

**Not married. And you? Are you still a manipulative liar?**

Perhaps he shouldn’t have been that harsh, but it still irked him to think of what had happened in Europe.

_Ouch._

_Well, I can’t say I didn’t deserve that._

_Will you ever forgive me?_

**I forgave you back in London, remember?**

_tbh, I don’t remember half of that conversation. What did you say?_

_wait_

_WHAT DID I SAY?_

Kurt giggled.

**Wouldn’t you like to know.**

* * * * *

**One year later**

Kurt followed the signs to the arrival gates. His hands were trembling and sweaty, but he tried to hide it. He took out a tissue from his precious bag. There was a small crowd waiting for different flights. One of them came from Paris via New York. Sebastian had told him he was coming one month ago, but even standing there waiting Kurt still couldn’t believe it was happening.

They’d had, against all odds, talked for a year. Kurt had gotten to know Sebastian more—his insecurities, his dark sense of humor, his vindictive streak and his bad moods; but also his generous nature, his flirty ways, his eagerness to learn about everything and anything. (And perhaps also his amazing body in pictures that Kurt would take to his grave.)

Sebastian’s flight got delayed. Kurt walked around the airport for a while and then he came back. This time the flight had landed, and Kurt’s heart sped up when a bunch of people came out. Sebastian was easy to spot. His figure was still perfect, even when he was wearing sweatpants. Who was he kidding, Sebastian was impressive in person no matter what he was wearing. Kurt waved at him, suddenly shy.

His shyness was out of place. Sebastian practically ran to him, and hugged him by the waist, and picked him up.

“Bas!” he cried out, but it was too late, they were going round and round. He’d become a cliché.

When Sebastian put him down, Kurt took him by the neck and kissed him, probably a bit too desperately, but hey, he’d wanted to do that for months. Fortunately, Sebastian was just as eager. If not a bit more eager. His hands were dangerously low for Kurt’s sanity, so he had to stop him. When they finally separated, and Sebastian opened his eyes, there was another plot twist.

“No fucking way,” Sebastian said suddenly.

“What?”

He turned to see what Sebastian was seeing. There was a man right there, with a sign for a “Mr. James David.”

“No fucking way,” he had to repeat.

Seconds later, a figure walked toward the man with the sign.

Sebastian took his hand. Kurt hold it and basically pulled him toward the two men. He stood by their side for a while, opening and closing his mouth, trying to come up with something to say.

“Uhm, can I help you?” said the man with the sign.

The other man turned around and, finally, there he was. James David in the flesh. He looked like a normal guy. He was average height, average weight, average face. He had blond hair and blue eyes. He seemed kind but confused.

Kurt was frozen in place. Sebastian took his hand away. 

“Hi,” said Sebastian abruptly. “I’m Sebastian and this is Kurt. If I were you, I’d be careful. He might follow you around the world.”

James just stared at him, puzzled.

“Excuse me—?”

Kurt was caught by surprise by Sebastian’s snark and jealousy, but he bounced back quickly.

“Never mind,” said Kurt. “Sorry to bother you. We thought you were someone else. Anyway, goodbye!”

He took Sebastian’s hand again and basically ran away with him.

Sebastian’s smile was smug when he was buckled up with Kurt, on the way to Westerville.

“So you’re just going to let your soulmate get away?” he asked.

Kurt kept driving, but he let his hand go toward Sebastian’s. He grasped it. 

“No,” he replied, confidently. “I’m not.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I treasure every kudo and every comment, and sometimes when I feel like a failure I come here and read them again.
> 
> Happy Kurtbastian week 2020 everyone! :)
> 
> I hope to come back with more Kurtbastian before the end of the year ^^, I'm already working on it. 
> 
> Also, happy late birthday Romi, and happy early birthday, Moni (if you're even here xD)


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